


my hands they shake, my head it spins

by QueenWithABeeThrone



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crack, Gen, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Originally Posted on Tumblr, this was done 2 years ago and i'm never finishing any time soon so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 18:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6819181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/pseuds/QueenWithABeeThrone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Technically, the identity of the man Bucky carries out of the base just seconds before it explodes is a highly-classified secret. Technically, because the rumors spread like wildfire through SHIELD, and pretty soon the lunch ladies are eyeing him with a funny knowing look, and at least half of SHIELD's junior agents--the ones who know about Game of Thrones, anyway--are staring at him with open admiration. Or shock, or disgust, depending on who they're rooting for.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Really, Bucky's kind of in a state of shock himself. After all, it's not everyday you save somebody you once cosplayed to Comic-Con.</i>
</p>
<p>or: Bucky Barnes meets Theon Greyjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my hands they shake, my head it spins

**Author's Note:**

> so two years ago, I wrote a fic for Theon Greyjoy Appreciation Week! [part of a fic](http://buckygreyjoy.tumblr.com/post/70733786380/fic-my-hands-they-shake-my-head-it-spins-part), and I never finished the next part. I'm posting it as is mostly bc someone apparently seemed to like it and wanted to find it easier, so I figured, why not put it up here?
> 
> obviously, since this was posted before CATWS even came out, this is not at all canon compliant.

There are a lot of ways that Bucky's imagined his first alien-or-otherwise invasion as an official part of the Avengers going. With all the other Avengers, definitely. With _Steve_ , certainly, in front of him, and Bucky covering his back like he's always done. With less sparkly vampires and goblins and god knows what the hell those things that Clint called "crazy face-hugging stomach-bursting bastards" are. 

It's just his luck, really, that Steve, Tony and Thor are off in Rome trying to track down an AIM cell, and Natalia and Bruce are in Rio smoking out some group called RAID, and Clint and Sam are the only ones who've stayed behind with Bucky in New York, Clint because of injuries from Manila and Sam because he's still a little new at the whole Avenger thing, newer than even Bucky. And it's just his luck that said alien-or-otherwise invasion falls firmly under the "otherwise" category, save for said crazy face-hugging stomach-bursting bastards and Stormtroopers and Daleks, holy Mother Mary, _what the hell._

And it's really just his luck that all these monsters and minions and more are being sent out by some guy with delusions of succeeding where this Loki fellow failed and taking over the world. With fictional characters. An army of redshirts, as Clint calls them, essentially the villain's cannon fodder against the heroes, except in this case the villain is some guy in a wizard robe that Bucky saw going for fifteen dollars a pop last Comic-Con and a staff that is less cheap, and the heroes are a formerly brainwashed assassin with a metal arm, an archer with two broken ribs and a leg in a cast, and a guy whose big superpower is being able to fly, and the villain's army includes things like sparkly vampires and man-eating trolls. And Daleks.

_Bucky Barnes, this is your life,_  he thinks to himself. They're in the third day of fighting, and Bucky's managed to break into the guy's base. No easy task, considering what it's being guarded by, and for the first time in his life he's starting to reevaluate his opinion of all those aliens in the cheesier sci-fi movies he's watched. And Klingons. And sparkly vampires.

_Jesus._

He presses himself up against the wall. He can hear something bumping about up in the vents, and he's just about ready to shoot whatever it is when he hears a muffled, New York-accented curse, and he relaxes.

"Between you and Barton, I'm beginning to get sick of birds," he says. "Warn me next time, I was _this close_ to shooting you."

He sees the cover crash to the ground, before Sam drops to the ground as well, and much more gracefully.

"Duly noted," Sam says. "I happen to like not being shot by someone on the same team as me." He draws his own gun, then looks around. "I heard you beat up a zombie with a Klingon bat'leth."

"It was a baseball bat," Bucky corrects absently. "But yeah, one tried to chew on me when I broke in, got the arm instead. I hear you took out an X-Wing."

"Lucky shot." Sam readies his gun, and they both press themselves flat against the wall once more. Bucky inches closer to the corner and peeks out for a few moments, catching sight of a pale thing with beady eyes and sharp teeth and a mean weapon that he can't really identify, then ducks back before it can see him.

"What'd you see?" Sam asks him.

"Orc." Bucky's seen _The Hobbit_  more than once, thanks to Clint and his weird Tolkien boner, and he's just thankful it's not the one with the spike for an arm.

"Christ," Sam swears. "Did he have a spike for an arm?"

"Nope." Bucky thumbs the safety off the gun, then glances out again. That's a mace. He's pretty sure that's a fucking _mace_ , oh god, why is there an actual _mace_.

What he wouldn't give for Clint right now, except Clint's laid up back in the hospital wing with a broken leg.

"Thank god," Sam mutters. "Wait--are you seriously about to--"

"Yep." Here's to hoping that the orc won't cave his head in with that mace before he can shoot it.

Sam groans, and says, "Steve said your style of tactical planning was basically 'rush in and get captured or worse'. I didn't think he was _serious_ , though."

"He better not have said that," Bucky grouses. He's the sniper here, the assassin, the killer, not the strategist. That's kind of Steve's job, though Bucky can be good at it. Mostly.

All right, so maybe half the battle plans he comes up with end up going awry, but come on.

"So, what's your big plan?"

"Same thing I did when I got here," Bucky says. "Shoot it."

He steps out into the corridor, just as the orc turns and sees him. It screams, and lunges at him with the mace just as he brings up his gun and fires off two shots into its head.

The orc's body drops to his feet, and Sam steps out into the corridor. "Well, great," he says, just as they hear a cacophony of voices, some metallic, others gravelly, all of them out for blood. "Can I borrow that mace?"

"Yeah, you can have it," Bucky says, picking it up and handing it off, then holstering his gun and drawing a laser rifle, just as a horde of--well, minions is kind of too broad a term for this, because there are Cylons and Klingons and Stormtroopers and Borg drones and oh, Christ, he isn't paid enough for this. _Any_ of this.

It's just as well they haven't encountered Others yet, really. Bucky still hasn't found himself a flamethrower.

\--

_Winter is coming._ It's fitting, that the Stark words should flash across his mind at this moment, because winter _has_ come, brought with it monsters that haven't been seen in Westeros for thousands of years, and woken the dead.

Theon's going to die. He knows that. He's known that since the Wall came down and the winter winds rose at last, since someone pressed a sword into his hands and told him they needed all the help they could get, regardless of where it came from. He's known since he took the torch and told Asha and Jeyne to go, _go_ before the wights caught them.

At the very least, though, he's going to die as Theon Greyjoy, as a son of Pyke. That much, he's glad for.

His fingers tighten around the torch, as the first wight walks into view, pale blue eyes and bloodstained clothes and all.

\--

"Is that a _lightsaber_?"

Sam grins, and swings the--yeah, it's a lightsaber, Bucky would know the sound of that anywhere. It's definitely effective, from the way a line of orcs scream before falling apart. "Yeah, it is," he says.

"Christ," Bucky says, a little enviously. Sure, laser rifles are great, but he wants a lightsaber. "I want one."

They've managed to cut through most of the horde now, fighting for every bloody inch towards the doors to the heart of this Warlock King's base, where apparently all these things are coming from. Bucky's lost count of how many minions he and Sam have managed to take down, but he's fairly certain it's something around "a fucking lot".

"Trade you the saber for a bat'leth?" Sam offers, and Bucky doesn't even think about it--he tosses the bat'leth towards Sam, then whips around and stabs an enterprising goblin, before he snatches the inactive lightsaber out of the air, activates it, and cleaves a nasty-looking elf in two with it.

Sam's holding his own well enough, but Bucky turns around and sees a Borg drone coming up behind him, and he draws his gun and fires. The drone drops to the ground, just as the sole of Sam's boot meets the face of something that looks like a cross between a harpy and old Sister Mary at the orphanage, and yeesh, that's a mental image he could've done without.

After what seems like forever--most likely it's only been, what, three minutes or so--Bucky manages to kick in the doors.

"Holy cow," he says, as Sam rushes to his side.

"Shit," Sam breathes.

The entire place is bathed in a sinister purple glow, and at the center is a huge, swirling vortex. There's a machine on the floor, whirring and beeping, and Bucky figures that's the cause of it.

"Right," Bucky says, "where's that sonuva--"

" _You cannot stop me now!_ " comes the shrill shriek. Bucky looks up, and yeah, there's the cheap wizard robes. Where the hell did this Warlock King guy get Joffrey's crown, anyway? "In just a few moments, my plan will come to fruition!"

"No one ever said anything about this when I joined the Avengers, you know," Sam says, looking up at the guy as he raves about his plans, making grand gestures towards the vortex. "Getting to fight aliens, sure. I signed up for that. I didn't sign up to feel kind of sorry for the people I'm going to have to knock out." He jabs his thumb up at the guy, ranting about his victory. "I mean, _look at him_ , Barnes."

"If it helps, I'm feeling sorry for the guy too," Bucky sighs. "It's kind of pathetic. So you knock him out and fly him out, I'll take out this thing. Sound good?"

"-- _and soon, the Others will come, and bring the winter with them_ \--"

That stops Bucky in his tracks. He whips his gaze up to the guy and shouts, "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

"I have your attention now, don't I, _Winter Soldier_?" the guy sneers.

"Don't sneer, it makes you look like a constipated rat," Sam says. "Bucky--these Others, they're not the ones from _Lost_ , right?"

" _Game of Thrones_ ," Bucky says. "You know, the White Walkers. The ones that hate all life." He looks up at the Warlock King, and says, "You're insane if you think they're gonna follow you that easy. Didn't you read the books? They. Are going. To. _Kill_. You. And then they'll turn _you_ into their personal servant, and we're all fucked 'cause of your delusions of grandeur."

"That won't matter," the guy snaps. "I have power over them, the machine will see to that--"

"You got lucky with the guys you pulled in," Bucky interrupts. "I've seen the schematics for this thing. There's nothing in it that says anything about putting them under your power--'course, you haven't been watching the news, have you?"

The guy pales for a second, but blusters on, "Of _course_ not, for my victory is already _assured_ \--"

"More like you're fucked even before you started," Bucky mutters, then glances to the vortex. Shit.

There's something coming through already.

\--

He's tired. He's tired and bloody and dizzy and he's sure he's going to die, and he can't keep this up forever. The torch is gone now, and the wights will be on him in a moment, but at least Asha and Jeyne have gone.

_I'm sorry, Asha_ , he thinks. He can hear something, a noise like whirring, and he trips backward, and he lets himself fall.

\--

"You are too late!" the guy crows.

"Sam?"

"On it." Sam backs up a little, then runs forward and jumps, and the wings unfurl. Bucky turns away, drawing his trusty Luger out from its holster, and takes aim at the machine.

He hears a scream, like someone's screaming at him to stop, _what are you doing_ , then a whack and a meaty thud.

He's got one shot left. He's got to make this count.

He pulls the trigger.

\--

Theon falls.

He's not expecting to hit the bottom.

\--

"Jesus _fuck,_ Barnes, what the _hell_ did you do?" Bucky has rarely ever heard Sam that pissed, but then again, they've only known each other, what, a month or so?

"Stopped the Others from coming through, hopefully," Bucky says, and he hears another thud, sees a limp form fall out of the vortex before it shrinks in on itself and--oh, hell, that does not sound good. "Go, Sam, get out of here! And take that sonuvabitch with you!"

"What about you?!" Sam yells.

"I'll be right behind you," Bucky says. "Just--just _go_."

Sam swears, a colorful string of expletives that only Bucky (and Steve, if he's in the mood) can match thanks to his time in the Army, and hauls the Warlock King up to his feet. "I'm flying back in for you," he says. "Don't you die."

"A fall from a train couldn't kill me," Bucky jokes, "what makes you think this could?"

"I'm serious--"

"Just go, already! I'll be fine!"

\--

Theon's fairly certain he's dead. His vision is nearly nonexistent, it's swimming so much, but there's a purple glow to everything.

He hears a whoosh of wings.

_Wings?_ he thinks for a moment, but then someone's by his side, and he can hear them cursing--a man, he realizes, and the man lifts up Theon's hand and presses two fingers to his wrist, as if listening for a pulse. Then he hears him swearing some more, and suddenly he's being lifted up to his feet, and--and there's something cold around him.

He blinks, his vision swimming in and out and focus, and sees a silver arm, sees a white star painted on red, white and blue. He can hear the man talking to him, telling him things, " _It's going to be okay, I've got you, I've got you, come on, stay with me--_ "

Then he sees light, hears something exploding behind him, and in the midst of shouting, he decides that now would be a good time to pass out.

So he does.

\--

Technically, the identity of the man Bucky carries out of the base just seconds before it explodes is a highly-classified secret. _Technically_ , because the rumors spread like wildfire through SHIELD, and pretty soon the lunch ladies are eyeing him with a funny knowing look, and at least half of SHIELD's junior agents--the ones who know about _Game of Thrones_ , anyway--are staring at him with open admiration. Or shock, or disgust, depending on who they're rooting for.

Really, Bucky's kind of in a state of shock himself. After all, it's not everyday you save somebody you once cosplayed to Comic-Con.

Christ, how is this his _life_?

"Hello, Agent Barnes," one of his therapists--Dr. Cummings or Collins or something--greets him as he's treating himself to a piece of chocolate cake at Starbucks, and Bucky's gotten good enough that he doesn't immediately jump and try to stab her with a bread knife. "How are you?"

"This ain't a therapy session, is it?"

The doctor--Dr. Collins, yeah--huffs out a laugh. "No, this isn't," she says. "Contrary to what you might think, I don't spend all my days in the office." She glances at the empty seat across from him, and says, "Can I sit down?"

"Coulda fooled me." He settles back down in his seat. "Sure."

She slides into the empty seat, setting her cappuccino down, and says, "You know, you can spit it out."

"Spit what out?" he asks, as innocently as possible.

"Theon," she says, simply.

Bucky puts his knife down. "How is he?" he asks.

"One would think you're a little attached to someone you just saved, you know," she says.

"It's a long and complicated story," Bucky tells her. Dr. Collins raises an eyebrow, but doesn't press, and thank god for that because Bucky's not sure he can tell her about the costume collecting dust at the back of his closet. He's not sure he can tell her, the way he's told very few, about his copy of _Dance_ , with its cracked spine and dog-eared pages, about how he's always been a little biased in Theon's favor. "Just--you're a doctor."

"A psychologist," she corrects. "A therapist. Physical treatment is not my area of expertise, Barnes."

"You're dating one of the nurses, right?" he guesses.

"How did you--" She pauses, groans. "Of course. The SHIELD rumor mill."

"Is it Jenkins or Barker? C'mon, I've got fifty dollars and a fancy date at stake here."

She levels a glare at him, but sighs and says, "Barker."

"Ha!" he crows, and earns a stare from a nearby table for his efforts. He leans forward, and says in a lower, more serious voice, "Is he okay?"

"He's alive," she says. "For now. He's not out of the woods yet--he's alarmingly malnourished, and the blood loss only exacerbated that--but there's a chance he'll pull through. A small chance, but a chance."

Bucky can't help it--he breathes a sigh of relief. "A small chance is better than none at all," he says. "What're we gonna do, when he pulls through? We can't send him back, the way that machine works, it's a one-way trip."

" _If_ he pulls through," Collins says.

" _When_ ," he insists. "He's made of tougher stuff than you think."

She raises an eyebrow, and says, "And you're an expert on that?"

"Sweetie, I've lost count of how many times I've read the books. Trust me, he's gonna pull through." He sighs, rakes a hand through his hair. "Just--is there an SOP for this kind of thing?"

"No," she admits. "I don't know what SHIELD is planning on doing with Theon, if--or when, I suppose, he pulls through." She takes a sip of her cappuccino. "You're not planning anything boneheaded, are you?"

"Nope," he innocently says.

\--

The first thing Theon sees is light. A bright light, and--this is not the Drowned God's watery halls, he died too far from the sea for that. But it's not how he pictured the afterlife, either.

His vision is blurry, but he can make out a shape of a man with a silver arm and a white star painted on red, white and blue, and soon enough his vision resolves itself.

"Wha..."

"Hey," the man says. He has dark brown hair, tied back with a band that has a strange symbol on it--two red triangles on a black background--and he's wearing some kind of blue trousers, with a grey shirt and a strange black jacket that looks as though it's made of some kind of leather, and while most of his silver arm is covered, Theon can see he's made no effort to cover his hand.

Theon blinks at him. "Who are you?" he asks. "And--where am I?"

"Not the afterlife," the man says. "James Buchanan Barnes, but just call me Bucky."

He only hesitates for a brief moment before giving his own name: "Theon. Theon Greyjoy." He looks around--there's a strange box on a shelf bolted to the wall, and a pile of books on a desk nearby, and he's sure he's wearing some kind of gown, only it's certainly not made out of silk. "Just, please tell me--where am I?"

"SHIELD hospital, New York, United States of America."

"...I've never heard of any of that." All he knows now is that he's probably nowhere near Westeros, from the strange names.

"I don't blame you." Bucky stands up, picks up a box that most definitely has something inside it--something that smells _really good_ to Theon--and opens it. "Pizza? Hand to god, the things they can do with pizza now is the third best thing in this century."

It's--well, Theon's pretty sure it's a pie, only pies don't look like that. But, goddammit, it smells far too good for him to just turn it down.

Bucky hands him a tissue and says, "Dig in."

\--

"So I hear you broke into a secure SHIELD facility to deliver pizza to a fictional character."

Bucky huffs out a laugh, hoists the blue plastic basket up. There's sour cream around here somewhere, he just knows it. "Good to hear from you too, Natalia," he says. "How's Rio?"

"Nothing like the movies made it out to be," she says over the phone. "For one thing, there are too many Orion dancing girls."

" _Orion dancing girls_? Oh my god, I should've gone with you and Bruce." He dumps a jar of sour cream into the basket, and says, "Seriously, though, really?"

"I had to drag Bruce away from them, they were that good at it," she says. "That aside, did you get anything out of that Warlock King guy?"

"How did you--okay." He massages his temples. "Not much. He just kept going on about how that machine was sold to him by some guy who told him that it could bring anything from any universe here, under his power. When we asked him, he couldn't say, just that the man who sold him the machine said he was from AIM."

"I've got bad news involving that machine."

"I can handle it."

He can hear Natalia sigh, and say, "There's more than one version of that. They were trying to refine it--my guess is, the Warlock King's version was an earlier one, though apparently they padded out its effects a little to get it sold."

"Christ," Bucky mutters.

"There's more--the earlier versions might not have been able to bring the people or things it brought through under the user's control, nor could they bring back the dead, but the later versions can. Among other things."

A chill suddenly runs down Bucky's spine. He thinks of Theon, eating pizza and asking about New York, asking about Westeros. The idea of Theon, of _anyone_ from another world, ripped from their home to serve some sick, twisted bastard's will--Bucky clenches his left hand into a fist.

He's been down that road before, and it still haunts his nightmares.

"James," Natalia says, snapping him out of his thoughts. "There's more versions of this machine out there--we only just deactivated one here in Rio, and you destroyed the other in New York. There are still three more out there, and as far as I know, Steve, Tony and Thor are looking for one of them. Apparently RAID took the plans for another version when they split off from AIM."

" _Fuck._ "

"Exactly." He hears Natalia's tired sigh. "That isn't even getting into what else they've got planned."

"Let me guess--more of that?"

"Yeah."

"Sir?" someone says, and he turns to see a young girl dressed in an apron and the store's uniform. "Are you okay? It's just that you've been glaring at the cookies for the past minute."

"I'm fine," he assures her. "Just--heard some bad news." He gestures to the phone he's keeping between his ear and his shoulder, and watches her eyes grow wide in understanding.

"Well, I'll say," she mutters, but flounces off to the ice cream section, yelling, "Don't even _think_ about opening that tub of ice cream, bitch!"

"What have cookies ever done to you, James?" Natalia wryly asks.

"I wasn't mad at the cookies!" he protests, dumping one box of them into the basket. "Anything else I should know?"

"So far, none. Anything else I should know on your end?"

Bucky coughs. "You're the _Game of Thrones_ expert here, right?" he asks.

"Yes. So?"

"Which wine tastes most like, say, Arbor red? And do I have to make it?"

He's pretty sure he can hear Natalia laughing to herself on the other end of the line.

\--

The next visitor Theon gets--at least, one who isn't clad in white and going by the title of "Doctor", which is apparently the same as a maester sans the chain, or Bucky, who comes by nearly every day bearing food--is a man with his leg in a cast, whose first words to him is, "Holy shit, you really are Theon Greyjoy, aren't you?"

"Yes," Theon finally says.

"Christ," the man mutters. "Wait 'til Stark hears about this, he'll throw a hissyfit over Barnes getting to you first."

"Wait-- _Stark_?" It takes him a moment to remember what little he's managed to hear about this other Stark--Tony, apparently, and according to most, he's richer than the Lannisters with an ego to match. He's heard snatches as well about Tony Stark and this Iron Man armor he wears into battle, and isn't _that_ the height of irony? "I've heard of him."

"Don't tell him you said that," the man chuckles, "we don't need his ego getting even bigger." He leans on the crutch, looks him over, and says, "Barnes wasn't kidding, though. You look like hell warmed over."

"So I've been told," Theon says, a little dryly.

The man maneuvers into a chair, and says, "I'm Clint Barton. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, and how much do you know about TV yet? Because there's something on it that might interest you."

Theon glances at the box in the corner. "I've asked a few times, and so far, all I know is that it works a little like a mummer's show, only--bigger."

Clint blinks, and says, "That's one way of putting it." He sighs. "Look, I don't know how to explain this--hell, I don't know how Barnes managed to talk to you that first time without turning into an emotional mess and tipping you off to it."

"I--wait, why would Bucky turn into _an emotional mess_ while talking to me?"

Clint looks like he's barely managing to suppress a grin, and Theon isn't entirely sure how to take all this. "Oh my god, no one's told you yet," he says. "Okay. Next time Barnes swings by, ask him about _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Or _Game of Thrones_." He pauses, catching the look that Theon's giving him, and says, "It'll make sense when you ask, I swear."

"Not much has made sense to me since I woke up here," Theon points out, and Clint hums in reply.

"You've got a point," he says. "But you're dealing with it pretty well."

"What other choice do I have?" He lets out a breath. "Besides, this--this isn't so bad, I've been in worse places." As strange as this world is, from what he's heard and what he's read, at the very least, it's not the Dreadfort.

Clint looks at him, a little pity and some kind of realization in his eyes, and says, "Christ. No wonder you and Barnes get along, I thought it was just the food. How was the pizza, anyway?"

"How does _everyone_ know about the pizza when we were the only ones here at the time?" Theon asks.

"Spy organization," Clint says, as if that explains everything. "It's kind of part of the job description."

"Should I check for holes in the walls, then?"

"It's a lot more complicated than _that_ , buddy."

\--

The first thing Bucky hears out of Theon, the next time he walks inside with a bottle of red apple wine in one hand and a bottle of vodka (the _good_ stuff, not the expensive shit Stark keeps in his wet bar, but the kind that violates at least four different laws), is, "Is that wine?"

"Closest thing I could find to what you might like," Bucky says, casually.

"And that?" Theon asks.

"Vodka," Bucky answers. "Really good vodka." He turns the chair backward, settles into the seat, opens the bottle of wine and holds it out to Theon, who takes it and takes a drink from it, and he notices that brief flash of distaste just before it disappears. "Any good?"

"It's. Not half-bad, I suppose." And Bucky knows a lie when he hears one, so he huffs out a laugh and shakes his head.

"You mean it's awful," he says.

"No, I mean--"

"You can say it, y'know," Bucky says. "I'm not gonna do anything, 'sides stick to just buying wine instead of making it."

"So why would you go to the effort for me in the first place?" Theon asks, and--well. That's a complicated question, and Bucky could answer in so many ways, but he doesn't know what to _say_.

"It's a long story," he finally decides. "I hear Clint swung by earlier."

"He wondered why you weren't an emotional mess when we first talked to each other," Theon says. "And he told me to ask you about _Game of Thrones_. Or _A Song of Ice and Fire_."

Bucky nearly chokes on his vodka. "That _shit_ ," he mutters. "Uh--it's a little complicated. I told you about that multiverse theory thing, right? How you got here?"

"I still remember, aye." Theon leans back, raising the bottle to his lips and taking another drink.

"Yeah. Uh." Bucky sighs, runs a hand through his hair. "Right. Think of it like this--some of the songs and stories you heard are real, in some other world. Maybe another world really is in the eye of some giant. But it works the other way as well--one world, all the people, all the things that happened in it, could just be songs and stories in another. I know about Westeros 'cause there's a bunch of books about it, and a show too, but I don't know how accurate it is."

Theon stares at him, then tips his head back and chugs half of its contents.

Bucky huffs out a short laugh. "Yeah, I'd feel the same way too."

"So _A Song of Ice and Fire_ \--"

"That's what the books go by," Bucky says. " _Game of Thrones_ is the show based off them."

"And you've read them," Theon says.

"Lots of people do. I'm one of them." He pauses to take a drink, and there's enough of a fuzz in his head that the task of telling Theon about the books doesn't seem so daunting as it used to be. "You're in them, you know. And--look, when I first read them, I wasn't--I guess you could say I wasn't myself, but that's another long story for another day, and I don't have enough vodka for that. You were one of the characters that stood out to me, and trust me, there were plenty of those."

"And _I_ stood out to you? I can't see why, honestly."

"Like I said, long story, and not enough vodka." He's pretty sure his therapists (and Steve) would disapprove of drinking his way through a few bottles of very strong alcohol while telling his story, but he's also pretty sure Theon gets it. Or at least the gist of it, anyway. "But yeah, you did. Still do."

"Is that why you've gone to all this effort?"

Bucky snorts. "Partly, but it's also because you looked like hell when I got you out of there, and I didn't want you to die just after saving you." He shrugs. "I went to all this effort 'cause I still don't want you dead. Or going slowly insane from being confined to one place and seeing the same old people over and over asking for the same old things. I've been there."

"Is that part of the story that you're saving for another day?"

"Kinda."

"I thought so." Theon takes another drink, and says, quietly, "Thank you. I don't--I don't have any way to repay you, for everything you've done for me so far. Other than--well." He looks away from Bucky and sucks in a breath, as if to keep his composure.

Bucky manages to keep a lid on the slightly bitter laugh threatening to bubble up and out of him. "I ain't looking to be repaid," he says, honestly. "In any way. I told you, I don't want you dead or worse. Believe me. All I wanna do is get you out of this room as soon as possible, but according to everyone I talk to, that'll be in a few weeks' time. When you're a lot more used to this world."

"I don't know if I _can_ get used to this world," Theon says, sounding a little lost, a little bleak. Sounding almost exactly like Bucky did, once upon a time, and it's a little surreal now hearing those words, when he'd said them to Steve once, in one of his darker days.

He thinks, then, of what Steve said back, and he knows what he's going to say.

He drains his bottle dry, leans forward, and says, "A little bit of advice, from a man out of his time to a man out of his world: you will. It's not going to be easy or fast, I can tell you that much, and there will always be days when you wake up and you don't know when or where you are, especially at this point. But later on, they'll be fewer and further between, and one day you'll wake up, and you'll look around, and you'll realize you've gotten used to it." He smiles, a little tiredly, and adds, "I'm not at that last part yet, but--well, let's just say neither of us are the first ones out of our own places."

"You don't look so out of your time to me," Theon says.

"I'm a hell of a lot older than I look, Theon." Bucky glances at the books nearby, the ones about Earth's history, and notes that they're a little scattered, not as orderly as they were before. "Have you gotten to World War II yet?"

"I've only just finished the one on the first." Theon drains his bottle dry. "This has something to do with the story you keep telling me you need more vodka for, right? Whatever that is."

"That's the first part, I don't need much vodka for it."

"Will you tell it, then? I've got all the time in the world, and I wager you don't have much else to do, since all you do is drop by my room to feed me." Theon sets the bottle down, on the bedside table, and it wobbles a little on the edge. Or maybe that's just Bucky's sight, but he reaches out to push it back a bit, so it doesn't fall over.

"Got me there," he says. "Right. Let's start with the time I stumbled on a scrawny little punk in a back alley scrap against a pack of bullies, back in 1930..."

\--

"Your Steve," Theon finally says, once Bucky finishes his story ( _and then I fell, and when I woke up--I'll save that part for another day_ ), "he sounds like--like someone I know." _A lot like Robb,_ he doesn't say out loud, but he thinks Bucky gets it.

"Yeah," Bucky says. "He's still alive, you know. I said you and I weren't the first ones out of our own places--that'd be 'cause Steve is. And Thor, but he gets to go home whenever he likes."

"Who?"

"Big blond fella with a hammer. Kind of like Robert Baratheon, 'cept leaner and a god of thunder. You'll like him."

Theon's beginning to think that, despite what Bucky says, he'll never be able to get used to this world, since from how casually Bucky mentions this Thor person, he personally knows a _god_. Then he remembers that in this world Theon himself is apparently not real, and Bucky is, at the very least, ninety years old or so, and looks twenty-six. That isn't even mentioning the _arm_.

"I--suppose so," he finally says. "Your friend, though? You said he was the first one out of his own place."

"The dumbass went and dumped a plane in the Arctic with himself in it," Bucky says, pauses, and sighs. "You know what I'm talking about, right?"

"I told you, I've read all the way up to the end of the First World War. I know what you mean, and--wait, _why_ would he do that?" He thinks back to one of the pictures in the books he's been muddling through, and trying to land one of those in this world's equivalent of the region beyond the Wall? He figures that's tantamount to suicide.

"It was a hell of a lot bigger than the Wright Brothers' plane, big enough that there was a bunch of explosives onboard. Said he couldn't risk it, so he dumped the plane--while the stupid punk was _still inside_ \--in the Arctic." Bucky huffs out an exasperated sigh. "Next thing you know, SHIELD finds him and he wakes up seventy years later in New York. And SHIELD might be good at what it does and all, but that part doesn't include 'easing super-soldiers into the twenty-first century'. Least that's how Steve tells it."

Theon thinks back to his own shock, when he woke up and Bucky had a pizza and an explanation waiting for him. He might be out of his own world, away from everything he's ever known, but he's had that much, at least. He doubts if this Steve did, from what Bucky says.

"And you?" he asks.

"I'll tell you when I have more vodka." There's that forced smile again. _I guess you could say I wasn't myself_ , and doesn't Theon know how that feels. ( _It rhymes with--_ ) "I've got the books," Bucky says. "The ones about Westeros. If you want them, I'll drop them off here."

The offer's as strange as the fact that there are books about Westeros in another world entirely in the first place. About him, about the Starks, about _Robb_ , and his refusal sticks in his throat.

A better man wouldn't hold on to the past like this, he's sure. A better man wouldn't cling to what little he has left of the past, would let go and let it be, let it stay gone. But Theon is not that man, he's selfish and broken and he's let too much slip past his fingertips already.

He doesn't know if Bucky's a better man than him. He figures that he probably is.

He says, "I'd like to read them. Please."

Bucky looks at him, then, and he doesn't say anything more than, "Okay," but Theon can see a flicker of sympathy and understanding in his eyes.

\--

The next time Bucky sees Clint, about a week or so after Bucky spills the first half of his story out to Theon with a bottle of vodka, Clint is limping back to his room in the Tower, and Bucky can't resist the urge to sneak up behind him, lean on the wall, and say, "You know, it's kinda rich of you to say you're surprised I wasn't an emotional mess the moment I met Theon. You're a fan of the guy too."

Clint, to his credit, doesn't jump all that high, but he does turn around with wide eyes for a moment before calming down. "I'm starting to think we should put bells on you or something," he says.

"You're dating Natalia, you should be used to that by now." He straightens himself up, arms crossed.

"Point," Clint concedes. "And what makes you think I wasn't turning into an emotional mess on the inside?"

"What makes you think _I_ wasn't?"

"Touche, Barnes." Clint leans on his crutch, and says, "So did you tell him yet?"

"About what?" Bucky asks. "The ASOIAF thing? 'Cause I told him that already. And I'm saving telling him about the Soldier for another day, when he gets to that point."

Clint stares at him. "No one's told you yet, have they?" he asks, and Bucky realizes something's up, and he's being kept out of the loop on something big.

It wouldn't be the first time, Bucky's sure, that he's been left out of the loop, but every time that happens, it leaves a sour taste in his mouth. "Told me _what_?" he asks, a little harsher than he means.

"That mission Cap, Stark and Thor are on right now? They got something out of it, all right--SHIELD rumor mill's unreliable as to what it is, but all we know for sure is that it's a person. From Westeros."

Bucky's not an easy man to shock. His boyfriend's Captain America, after all, he's a part of the Avengers (a fresh off probation part, but a part of them nonetheless), and the things he's seen and fought over the years would cause an ordinary man to faint. But he can be shocked.

"You're kidding," he breathes.

"I'm not," Clint says.

"I have to call Steve--"

"They're in the middle of a mission," Clint points out, and Bucky swears, clenching his metal hand into a fist and resisting the urge to punch a wall. Clint's right, is the thing--Bucky can't just call them in the middle of a mission, either his message would end up going to voicemail or he'd accidentally give them away while they're skulking around (though a flashier trio he has never before seen). "Look, Barnes, you know Cap better than I do. He's going to call you as soon as he's done, right?"

"Yeah, but--Jesus, something more specific than ' _somebody from Westeros_ ' would be great. Least then I'd know what to expect." This way, he's not sure if he should hide an extra knife when Steve comes back with this mysterious Westerosi in tow, or if he should buy another pizza. He'll lay odds on the former--there aren't many decent people in Westeros, he's learned, and even then this could be one of the later versions of the machine, the ones that could bring someone under the user's will.

"Man, Barnes, believe me, if I could tell you, I _would_." Clint huffs out a tired breath, and runs a hand through his short-cropped hair. "But that's all I got from the SHIELD rumor mill."

"One of these days, we need to get a source more reliable than the rumor mill," Bucky mutters, his metal hand unclenching. "And I know. How much longer's this mission gonna last?"

"Around--a month or so, I'm guessing."

A month of nightmares and waking up to a cold, empty bed. Great.

At the very least, though, Bucky's making a new friend out of this. A new friend who is currently in SHIELD custody, and the idea of Theon staying in that hospital for an indefinite period of time rankles with Bucky somehow.

Then something starts to form in his head.

"Say," he begins, "you know that time Steve broke me out of a SHIELD hospital?"

\--

A week or so later, Theon says, "You're not serious."

Bucky's grinning wickedly, the kind of grin Theon himself used to wear when trying to drag Robb into something, and now the kind of grin Theon's beginning to associate with things like "sushi". Whatever that was, besides awful-tasting. "I am," he says. "'Sides, it's gotta happen sooner or later, and I personally think you need to get out of here as soon as you can."

And--well, the thing is, Theon actually does agree with Bucky. He's beginning to get his bearings in this world now, he's even watched one or two shows (and gotten completely confused three minutes in on them, but _still_ ), and he's sure that if he spends one more week in here he's like to go mad.

Only, well, he's still not sure if he can actually deal with this new world. Sure, Clint's shown him pictures on that thing that looks like a fancy flat brick that occasionally glows ("never tell Stark you said that," Clint had sniggered, "or, you know what, I'll tell him, his ego needs deflating anyway"), and Bucky has regaled Theon with how things were in the 1930s and the early 1940s and told him the occasional story about the 2000s, but it doesn't change the fact that his only firsthand experience with this world is limited to the white room he's in, the doctors who visit whose faces keep blurring together in his memories, and Bucky and Clint.

He'd told Bucky that much, the day before. Bucky just snorted out a laugh and said, "Well, we'd better get to busting you out of here so you can have an in-depth firsthand experience."

At the time, Theon had figured he wasn't serious. Now, though, he's not so sure, because Bucky's bought him a shirt, blue trousers, gloves, the _works_. Even a _hat_. And a bag that looks large enough to stuff a dog in, with pockets and pouches and everything. It's certainly more than big enough for what few belongings Theon does have, here.

"You don't have to--"

"I told you, I don't want you dead or going nuts in here," Bucky says. "Neither does Clint. Or Natali--Natasha."

"Who?"

"Me," a woman says, pushing the door to Theon's room open. And--gods, but she's certainly attractive, and in another life Theon might've tried to bed her, though he figures he'd probably have ended up with a severe injury if he did. As things stand, though, he just blinks at her and tries not to look so much like a deer before a lion. "Pleasure to meet you, Theon. I'm Natasha Romanov. I've read quite a bit about you."

"Oh," Theon says, a little weariness creeping into his tone. "You have the books?"

"All five," she confirms. "I hear you're working through them."

"It's a little surreal," he admits.

"I did tell Clint not to talk about it," she says, leveling a _Look_ at Bucky, who huffs in response. "But I figured James knew better than to be goaded into telling you. How're you dealing?"

"Blame Clint!" Bucky protests. "It wasn't all my fault."

"Well enough," Theon answers. "Considering what I've been told over the past few days. And the sushi."

Bucky makes a face, and says, "Yeah, okay, the sushi might've been my fault, but I didn't know the wasabi was _that_ spicy."

Natasha glances quickly at Theon. "Did he--"

"I didn't eat it," Theon says. "He did. And proceeded to drink an entire pitcher of water afterwards." He shrugs, noticing the exaggerated betrayal on Bucky's face. "The sushi just tasted bad."

"Sam said they'd taste great," Bucky peevishly says.

"Sam's taste in food is slightly less terrible than Tony's," Natasha says, in a very calm, slightly exasperated tone that she must've used before, in similar arguments. "And more terrible than yours. Who even eats wasabi, anyway?"

"Says the woman who puts anchovies on her pizza," Bucky grumbles.

Theon feels a little helplessly confused, watching the two of them snipe at each other like old friends, and very out of his depth here. "I'm still right here," he says, and freezes up when both of them immediately turn to look at him.

Bucky swears, runs his metal hand through his hair. "Damn," he says, and takes Natasha's hand with his flesh-and-blood one to tug her along. "Come on, Natalia." He looks at Theon and says, "If you don't want to--"

"It's either I go outside, or I stay in here and start going mad," Theon sighs. "I'll take the option that doesn't involve going mad."

"Okay, great." Bucky pulls the door open, Natasha following behind, and then glances back at him. "We'll be waiting up for you," he says.

\--

The first thing in three weeks that Bruce Banner says to Bucky in person is, "Did you really deliver pizza to Theon Greyjoy?"

Bucky groans. "That was on the first day," he says. "I've brought him a ton of food since then. And booze. Mostly food, though."

They're standing just outside the nondescript SHIELD hospital in a relatively calm neighborhood, all five of them--Bucky, Clint, Natalia, Bruce and even Sam, whose entire experience with _Game of Thrones_ consists of the first season and scattered spoilers on the Internet--milling around Sam's minivan. Bucky's not sure how much trouble they're all gonna get in, springing Theon from the hospital for a day out in the sun without prior permission, but he figures it's going to be a shitload of trouble.

Hell, they've been in a shitload of trouble before. This isn't anything new.

"Feels kinda like deja vu, huh, Doc?" Clint says to Bruce, who smiles a little.

"Yeah," he says, and glances at Bucky.

Bucky huffs out a laugh. Hard to believe it's only been about a year since that con, and about ten months since Steve sprang him from the hospital. Now he's on the other side, waiting for the guy he'd cosplayed to the con to come out. "You're telling me," he says. "Kinda wish Steve wasn't in Italy, though. When is he coming back, anyway?"

"Three weeks, give or take," Sam says. "At least, that's how much I know. And apparently he's bringing somebody else from Westeros along."

"Great, now I'm jealous," Natalia mutters. "First James gets to meet Theon, then Steve gets to meet--well, I don't know. And all I get are Orion dancing girls."

"They were rather attractive," Bruce says, and--damn, if only Bucky'd thought to bring along a camera.

"An understatement," Natalia says. She glances at Sam and says, "Did you really take out an X-Wing?"

"Lucky shot," Sam says, but it's clear enough that he's proud of that little achievement. "Say, did you really knock out a dragon with a morningstar?"

"I had some help," Natalia modestly says. "Right, Bruce?"

Bruce just smiles, pleasantly. "Yeah," he says.

"Oh my god," Bucky says, "you never said anything about _that_."

"You didn't ask."

Bucky laughs, a little, then turns to look at the entrance. For a second he wonders if Theon backed down after all, but then someone steps out of the hospital in clothes just a little too big for him, wearing gloves and a hat and carrying a bag with half its pockets open, and looks around the place like he's seeing all this for the first time, and yeah, that's definitely Theon.

"I'll be back," he tells the other Avengers, and jogs on over to Theon's side. "How're you liking New York so far?"

"It's calmer than you said it would be," Theon says.

"We're not in Times Square." Bucky holds out his own gloved hand, the right one, made of flesh and blood. "C'mon, let me introduce you to Sam and Bruce over there."

"And your friend Steve?" Theon asks, taking it and following along.

"Still in Italy." He doesn't know exactly how to tell Theon that he just might meet someone he knew from Westeros again, so he resolves to leave that for later, when they're somewhere bigger and more comfortable than a hospital room. "'Sides, he'd kind of stick out."

"Even outside of that costume?"

Bucky chuckles. "How far are you now?"

"Far enough along that I can safely say your friend wears a truly ridiculous costume."

Bucky wonders just how Steve's going to take it, if he tells him that Theon Greyjoy, of all people, thinks his costume is ridiculous. Most likely he'll just laugh a little, say that as old-fashioned as it is, it's grown on him.

Damn, he misses Steve already.

"Yeah, he does," he says, out loud, just as they reach the car. "Right--Theon, that guy over there, the one wearing a Mets baseball cap 'cause he's a masochist? That's Sam Wilson."

"Oh, and you're not either?" Sam retorts, but he's grinning anyway. "Pleasure to meet you, Theon. You're looking a lot better than when Bucky carried you out of that base."

"I feel a little better," Theon says.

"I'm Bruce," Bruce says. "Doctor Bruce Banner, actually, but just call me Bruce. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Theon--Bucky and Clint are fans of yours, they never shut up."

"I--wait, really?" Theon's eyes slide to Bucky for a second, and Bucky sees him trying not to smile too widely.

"Banner's exaggerating," Bucky says.

"Slightly," Bruce says.

"So, Bucky, where to?" Sam cuts in, and oh, yeah. Okay, so maybe Bucky's big plan stopped at "get Theon out of there", but he's good at making plans up on the fly. Mostly.

"I don't know about you," Natalia suddenly says, "but I'm in the mood for a latte." Her gaze cuts to Theon, and she adds, "It's a kind of coffee. Trust me, it's good."

"He said the sushi was good," Theon says, and Bucky crosses his arms and huffs indignantly in reply.

"You mean it wasn't?" Sam asks.

"My tastes in food are better than James' or Sam's, you can trust me on that," Natalia says, as Sam slides the minivan's door open. "Come on in, our first stop's Starbucks."

"Wouldn't that be a bit much?" Clint asks, as they all pile in, and Christ but Bucky is forever silently thankful that Sam's minivan can fit three superheroes, an archer with a broken leg, an ex-assassin and a recently-sprung hospital patient with no problem--he's pretty sure he'd have stolen one of Tony's fancy cars if not for Sam. "I mean, Starbucks is pretty popular, it's bound to have some people around."

"At this time?" Natalia chuckles, clambering over into shotgun. "They'll all be tired college students panicking over their term papers. We'll be fine."

"Starbucks?" Theon asks, as Bucky settles into a window seat.

"You know when I brought you that cookie and the iced chocolate drink with whipped cream on top? That's where it comes from, and there's plenty more besides." He pats the seat beside him with his right hand--everyone else has already claimed their seats, and some have draped themselves over two seats at once. In Clint's case, he's claimed the entire backseat, and has maneuvered himself into a comfortable enough position, considering his leg.

For a second Theon looks almost indecisive, this close to fleeing, but then he sucks in a breath and drops into the empty seat, setting his duffel bag on the floor.

"Well," Bruce says, behind them. "That's a sight you don't see everyday."

"This entire thing is something you don't see everyday either," Clint says from the backseat, eyes closed.

"Shouldn't you be asleep, Barton?" Bucky says.

"Zzzz, ooooh Mr. Barnes, show me what you got, zzzz." The effect's a little ruined by the fact that Clint occasionally opens one eye for a little peek, and his mouth is moving a little too much.

"Sorry, pal, I'm taken."

"Why, Clint, I didn't know you swung that way," Natasha calls from the front seat.

"Children, we haven't even gotten the car started yet," Sam grouses good-naturedly. "Can you all behave before I dump you all on the sidewalk?"

\--

Starbucks, Theon finds out, is a not-so-little shop that sells pastries and cakes and drinks and machines that Clint calls "coffee-makers" and Bucky calls "the worst attempt at a _Star Trek_ replicator I've ever seen", whatever that is. It smells fragrant, certainly, and after asking the others what they want, Natasha steers Theon towards a rather short line of people in front of a glass case that--

\--oh gods.

"Take your time," she says, pleasantly, and Theon is pretty sure that if he takes his time they'll end up spending the entire night here, because he's never seen most of the foods, and even those he has are different from what he's used to. "I definitely recommend the lemon pound cakes, though. They're probably the closest thing Starbucks has to lemon cakes." She pauses, then adds, "At least in taste, anyway."

"And you know this how?" he asks.

"I tried making lemon cakes," she says, and he can't help a brief snort of laughter. "You should try baking sometime, it's good for relieving stress."

"I don't think it'd turn out all that well," he says.

"Well, we all have to start somewhere." She smiles, then, a soft, slight little smile. "You can ask Steve, once he gets back. He's good at baking."

Bucky's friend again. Or, well, he isn't totally sure if they are friends or something more, from the way Bucky's face goes a little soft sometimes when he talks about him, but the thing is--this Steve? He reminds him of Robb, the way Bucky reminds him a little of himself, and he can't help but wonder if he and Robb could've had what Bucky and Steve have between them.

Only, he slammed the door on that possibility a long time ago, a world away.

"Mayhaps I might," he says absently, falling in step behind Natasha as the line begins to move.


End file.
